


Bucky Barnes Loves Musical Theater, and Other Incongruous Aspects of the Recovery of the Former Winter Soldier

by justanothersong



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Mild Angst, Musicals, Recovery, Song Lyrics, mild crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 14:23:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13526154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothersong/pseuds/justanothersong
Summary: In which Bucky finds a way to heal through theater and fine dining, and Steve carries on, hopeful if a little frazzled.





	Bucky Barnes Loves Musical Theater, and Other Incongruous Aspects of the Recovery of the Former Winter Soldier

Steve Rogers should have been overjoyed. He was, for all rights in purposes, in the midst of the best circumstance of his entire life.

He had lived to see a new century, when most thought he’d have been lucky to see thirty years. He was young and fit and healthy, no rattling cough or weakened body holding him back. He was surprisingly wealthy; the United States Army had decided that his decades on ice, frozen solid in the north Atlantic, should be meted out as combat pay, with interest. Steve would never have to work another day in his life -- though it would be impossible, he knew, to relegate himself to a life of leisure.

He had found several good, loyal friends. In spite of everything -- in spite of facing the loss of the small family he had found since awakening to a brave new world -- they had managed to circle the wagons and come back together. Recognizing the losses they had incurred; realizing that they needed each other.

And best of all -- the absolute cherry on the sky-high sundae that Steve Rogers’ life had become -- he had the love of his life back. A man he once thought dead, lost to his own damn failings, had returned to Steve, and he should have been ecstatic.

But he wasn’t. Because Bucky wasn’t really Bucky, not yet. Steve knew logically that he needed time -- they both needed time. Decades of torture and mental programming couldn’t be undone in so short a time; there was no true love’s kiss to save the day, no magical restoration of memory and erasure of the pain that Bucky had suffered. Steve knew it would be a long while before Bucky would be Bucky again -- if he even _could_ be Bucky again.

But it didn’t stop him from wishing it could all go back to the way it was. Steve realized by the second day the silent, brooding man who had once been his entire world had moved in to share his suite in Stark Tower that he would give it all up -- his health, the money, this ridiculous century -- just to have one more day with the man that he had known. Sometimes Steve found himself desperately wishing that he _could_ give it up, wanting nothing more than the crummy flat the two had shared in their youth, wrapped around each other in a small cold bed, trying to fend off the chill in the air and Steve’s cough that was refusing to let up.

He could have spent his entire life that way, Steve realized. Sickly and small. Maybe not even seeing thirty after all. That would have been fine by him, if could have just had Bucky.

 

So he tried not to think about it. He tried not to push. It was hard sometimes, stories and memories on the tip of his tongue, bitten back so he didn’t have to see that horrifying blank stare in return, the look of a man whose mind had been wiped clean so often that the small anecdotes of their youth were all mysteries to him. He kept telling himself that he needed to be patient, needed to keep his memories (and his hands, if he was being honest) to himself until Bucky was _ready_.

Because Steve knew in his heart of hearts that one day, Bucky would remember everything they had once meant to each other. And Steve was ready to wait a lifetime for that moment -- ‘til the end of the line, if necessary.

 

An ordinary breakfast on an ordinary fall day found everyone in residence at the Tower gathered around a crowded table, heavily laden with every breakfast food under the sun. People came and went as they pleased, and on the rare occasions everyone was home (as Tony insisted that this was their home, no matter how far they wandered or how often they had to leave), Tony would turn into a mother hen for a few hours every few days and insist they all share a meal.

Steve was on his third stack of pancakes and another handful of bacon when Tony gave him an exaggerated eye-roll.

“Would have been nice if the old man left a few notes on that serum, at least enough to tell me that if a supersoldier wandered in from the cold, he might eat me out of house and home,” Tony grumbled good-naturedly. He seemed to adore giving Steve shit about the most mundane things, almost like the big brother Steve never had.

Or little brother, given their respective ages. 

Steve hadn’t even had a chance to form a response when Bucky snorted from his seat beside him, a fond smile on his face even as his eyes stayed on the half-empty plate in front of him, forkful of scrambled eggs still in hand.

“Ain’t any serum gave that punk his appetite,” he said, laughter in his voice. “Could polish off a meal in five minutes flat and be ready to ask for more even when he was skin and bones.”

Steve’s eyes went wide in surprise. “Buck?” he asked cautiously.

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t play coy, Steve. Actin’ like I didn’t see you wolf down three hot dogs and a pile of cotton candy all in a row at Coney Island. And you blamed me for you barfin’. Shit, you had a whole pack of Oreos and half a gallon of milk before we even came to breakfast this mornin’!”

Laughter echoed around the table; Steve sat dumbfounded and Bucky only smiled, resuming his breakfast. Even Natasha wore the faint impression of a grin.

“At least now I know where my cookies keep disappearing to,” she said.

By the evening, Bucky had gone quiet again. His screams that night when he slept were worse than they had been in some time. Baby steps, Steve realized; for every memory that came back to Bucky from their shared past, the horrors of what had been done to him would return just as vividly.

He started to wonder if it wouldn’t be better if Bucky just forgot everything for good; and then suddenly, things began to change.

 

The invitation came without warning, surprising Steve to some degree. The public opinion on Bucky Barnes had turned a tide; he was a war hero now, a surviving member of the Greatest Generation, who had suffered unspeakably at the hands of his enemies. People smiled at him in the streets now; children wanted to be him for Halloween and pretend play, and more than one person had come up to them both not to greet them as celebrities or beg autographs or selfies, but to thank them for their service.

Young. Old. It didn’t matter. An elderly man who had tears in his eyes when he showed them the number still inked on his forearm. A young woman in a wheelchair who wore the dogtags of the best friend she lost in the explosion that took her legs. They could see Bucky for who he was -- for who Steve had always known him to be: a good man, a god damned hero.

It helped, Steve thought, for Bucky to realize that he wasn’t so reviled as he had once thought. The invitation, addressed to both Steve and Bucky, was proof enough of that.

“Huh,” Steve said, looking over the note that had arrived alongside the tickets in a thick cream-colored envelope. “We’ve been invited to see a play about Alexander Hamilton.”

Bucky looked up with a skeptically arched eyebrow. “What, the president?” he asked.

Steve shrugged. “I guess. You wanna go?”

Bucky stared at him from his seat on their couch for a long tick before he nodded. “Yeah, I guess. Why the hell not?”

 

The tickets placed them in a private balcony with another couple and their child, and Steve had to forcefully correct his own thoughts as they took their seats. _We are NOT a couple_ , he reminded himself. _Maybe… one day. Maybe. But not now. He’s not ready. He probably doesn’t even remember._

With is head so thoroughly entrenched in his own problems and Bucky still trying to get a grip on his own circumstances, neither man had delved much into pop culture, not even realizing exactly the sort of ‘play’ that they had arrived to see.

“Huh,” Bucky said during the intermission, paging through the Playbill. “Who the hell writes a musical about Alexander Hamilton?”

“Oh… hey…” the man sitting next to them spoke up. “That would be me.”

Steve turned in surprise, recognizing immediately the wide-eyed look on the man’s face -- ‘fanboy’, Tony called it. He glanced down at his own Playbill to double-check the name and put on his best smile before holding out a hand in greeting.

“Mr. Miranda?” Steve asked. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Thank you so much for the invitation.”

The playwright was thrumming with excitement, the woman at his side smiling indulgently while she bounced their son on her knee.

“It’s great to meet you!” Lin blurted. “Both of you! Wow. You two have a hell of a story, you know. Ever think about putting it on the stage?”

Bucky gave a low rumble of laughter. “I doubt people’d be interested in hearing about half of the stupid shit we got up to in the day,” he said.

Lin grinned at him. “I think you’d be surprise,” he replied.

By the time they made it home that night -- after two hours of drinking and talking with an extremely excited Lin-Manuel Miranda and a promise that should they ever want someone to sing their history, they would come to him to write it -- Bucky had gone quiet, but not in the way that Steve had grown used to. He was tired, that much was obvious, but he seemed in good spirits, occasionally humming what Steve thought to be a few bars from “Satisfied”.

“Have a good time tonight?” he asked Bucky cautiously. They had gathered in the kitchen of their suite, Bucky fumbling around in the refrigerator before retrieving a Tupperware container of macaroni and cheese.

“Yeah, it was interesting,” he agreed, voice low out of respect for the lateness of the hour. He plucked a clean fork from the strainer beside the sink -- because Steve was adamant that dishwashers were a waste of energy and insisted on washing everything by hand himself -- and moved towards the doorway.

“But the next time you take me out on the town, you can buy me dinner first,” Bucky declared, and slapped Steve on the ass as he walked by. Steve just stared on dumbfounded, and Bucky disappeared into his bedroom with his cold macaroni.

The next time they received theater tickets in the mail, Steve didn’t even ask Bucky before deciding they would attend.

 

‘West Side Story’ was only the third time in his life that Steve saw Bucky Barnes cry; sure, he’d spotted tears in his eyes from time to time, but they rarely fell free. The first time they did was at the small service they had for Steve’s mother when she passed; the second was the night before Bucky shipped out. They both knew their goodbye in public couldn’t be so true to what they were feeling, and they got it out the night before.

It was a small theater production but it was beautifully done, and the young cast had been over the moon in learning their invitation had been accepted. Steve and Bucky had greeted them all kindly before the show began, the young actress playing Anita bursting into tears and throwing her arms around Bucky in greeting in so emphatic a way that Bucky stumbled back in surprise before awkwardly patting the girl on the back.

The show’s Maria had taken Steve aside and explained quietly that the other girl’s grandfather, who she has been quite close to, had recently passed away. The man had told his family for years upon years that he owed his life to Sergeant Bucky Barnes and it had brought out a great deal of emotion in the young woman to see her family’s hero in person. Steve had smiled and promised to explain it to Bucky later.

Steve was surprised when, during “Somewhere”, Bucky reached out and gripped his wrist tightly. His eyes were still trained on the stage, his expression not betraying any emotion, but his eyes were glistening in the low light of the theater, tears streaking down his cheeks.

_There's a time for us  
Someday there'll be a time for us  
Time together with time to spare  
Time to learn, time to care_

The words had resonated with Steve as well; he thought that perhaps, he understood what Bucky was feeling. They didn’t speak about it later, but Bucky was smiling a little when they left the theater.

Steve made sure to buy him dinner before they returned home for the night.

 

Three weeks later was a short run of ‘Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat’. Bucky had spotted the ad in the paper and, finding the choice of subject amusing and a little bit odd, suggested casually one afternoon that they should go. Steve could hardly refuse.

Steve had a lump in his throat during the big number at the end of the first act; a glance at Bucky told him that it had touched him too, his eyes squeezed shut at the music played.

_Just give me a number  
Instead of my name  
Forget all about me  
And let me decay  
I do not matter  
I'm only one person  
Destroy me completely  
Then throw me away_

Steve wanted to say something when it was over, find some way to connect with Bucky over the music and the lyrics that had touched him so much, but Bucky only smiled.

“Where’re we eatin’?” he asked, voice gruff but cheerful. “I think you can do a little better than fast food this time, punk.”

They found a diner open late not too far from the Tower; Steve ordered two complete meals and a strawberry milkshake, packing them away with ease while Bucky teased him to no end. Not that he had much room to talk: he may have ordered one meal but he had them add an extra burger to his plate, washing it down with his own milkshake. 

That night, while Bucky showered, Steve was pretty sure he heard him singing a few lyrics, on and off, from “Any Dream Will Do”.

 

‘Cats’ was next (“I mean, yeah, truth in advertising I guess but Jesus, Stevie, I didn’t expect it to be about _actual_ cats!”); they had dinner before the show that time, at a little Italian place that Tony had recommended. It was a little romantic, all low-lit with candles on the table, but Bucky didn’t seem to mind. The finished off two bottles of red wine before they left for the theater.

Then there was ‘The Lion King’ (“Okay but how can you still think the cartoon is better than that? It was all artistic and shit, you punk!”); a little less formal for dinner, a Greek diner, saganaki and a bottle of ouzo. 

They had Indian food before ‘Wicked’ (“This is nothing like the movie”, Steve had said, surprised). Bucky decided curry was fantastic and samosas were the best thing ever. He snuck two into the theater in his pocket, wrapped up in a napkin pilfered from the restaurant.

“Christ, I can’t take you anywhere,” Steve had grumbled, and Bucky laughed.

“Didja think that’d ever change?” he countered.

Steve heard Bucky suck in a sharp breath during the show’s romantic ballad and when he turned to see him, Bucky’s face held a strangely lost expression, his brow furrowed and his lips slightly parted.

_Every moment  
As long as you're mine  
I'll wake up my body  
And make up for lost time  
Say there's no future  
For us a pair  
And though I may know  
I don't care_

Before the song ended, Bucky had slipped his hand into Steve’s threading their fingers together. Steve held on tight for the rest of the night.

 

It was ‘RENT’ that seemed to finally break down the last of Bucky’s walls. He had been doing really well, talking more, interacting with the rest of the team. He still had nightmares but not as often and not nearly as bad. The blank, hollow-eyes expressions were all but gone, replaced with occasional confusion and a wistful squint, as though Bucky were struggling to grasp at a memory just outside of his reach. 

Steve was actively checking the papers now -- the internet too, once Tony pointed out he was showing his age by expecting to find everything he was looking for on the printed page. It was New York, after all; there was always something going on, some sound and stage spectacle to attend. Bruce had recommended getting tickets to RENT, as he had personally enjoyed it. Steve thanked him for the suggestion and picked out a date to attend.

He and Bucky had dinner that night at a steakhouse in Brooklyn, not far from where the flat they had shared had once stood. The building was long gone but they walked by the address for nostalgia’s sake anyway, recognizing a few landmarks that still stood.

Bucky nudged Steve with his elbow, hands deep in his pockets as they walked. “Those were the days, eh?” he asked, a small smile on his face.

Steve beamed. “Wouldn’t trade’em for the world, Buck,” he said.

The play surprised them both. Steve knew it was different now, people were freer with what they felt, more true and open to who they were, but it still startled him to see it. It was still something else to see it live on a stage, in a theater full of people who smiled and applauded. It made Steve hope, just a little. That one day, he could have that.

It was during the reprise version of “Cover Me” that Steve found himself choking back a sob. The funeral setting, Collins weeping over Angel, it was almost too much; he was there but he wasn’t, half of him in the theater, practically trembling with emotion, while the other half was far away and long ago, clinging to a careening train and watching his whole life slip from his fingers and fall down into a snowy abyss.

The warmth of Bucky’s arm slipping over his shoulders is what brought him back.

“Hey,” Bucky said quietly, voice straining to remain calm and even. “Hey, Stevie, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m right here, okay? We’re fine.”

 

They didn’t speak the whole way home that night. Steve felt exhausted, the outpouring of emotion one of the few moments since waking in the new century in which Steve allowed himself to grieve. When they made it back to their suite, Steve busied himself hanging up coats and scarves and Bucky stood against the back of their couch, watching him.

“Think maybe we should have a talk,” he spoke up, voice low and rough, once Steve had finished.

“Sure, Buck,” Steve agreed amiably, standing just a few feet away and facing Bucky head on. He tried to sound casual, even though his eyes were still rimmed red and his cheeks flushed with the emotion of the evening. “What about?”

Bucky sighed, carding a finger through his dark hair. “I think you know damn well what about,” he replied, and Steve nodded just slightly.

“I know… I know you’re different now, Stevie,” he began, gaze focused on the floor, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “I know you don’t need me, like you did when we were kids. You haven’t for a long time, but I…”

“I’ll always need you, Bucky,” Steve said quietly. A stray tear, a holdover from the heart-wrenching music he had heard, he tried to tell himself, slipped from his eyes and drew a damp glittering path down his cheek. “You’re my best friend.”

Bucky laughed, a strange, sad little chuckle. “S’not what we are, and you know it,” he said. He glanced up, locking his gaze with Steve’s. “Not what we ever were, really.”

Steve nodded slowly. “You remember?” he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Bucky sighed. “Always remembered, Stevie. Just didn’t think… I mean, look at me. I’m a mess. What kinda fella could ever want that? I couldn’t expect you…”

Steve couldn’t help himself. Two steps closed the distance between them and then he was wrapping his arms around Bucky, pulling him close, stealing the kiss he’d been dying for from the moment he laid eyes on him again. They fumbled for just a moment, part of them still trying to fall into the old way, when Steve had to stand on tiptoe with Bucky’s arm an anchor around his waist just to reach the other man’s lips. But then they found their rhythm, and Steve felt his heart soar.

Bucky still tasted the same, the familiarity so much as to be almost overwhelming. Steve clung to him for dear life.

“Always going t’need you, Buck,” he mumbled. “Always going t’want you.”

They had a lot to talk about still. They couldn’t just jump into it, pretend the last few decades hadn’t happened, and hope it would all work itself out. But they had all the time in the world now.

They fell into a soft half-slumber tangled up in each other on the couch, Bucky on his back and Steve nestled against his chest, just the way he did when he was small. It was crowded and close but neither man cared. Steve was almost asleep when he realized Bucky was humming quietly, the sound in his ear and the vibration rumbling through his chest. To his tired mind it seemed unfamiliar at first, until Steve realized it was a song from the show they had seen that night.

_I think they meant it  
When they said you can’t buy love  
Now I know you can rent it  
A new lease you are my love  
On life  
All my life  
I’ve longed to discover  
Something as true as this is_

Steve grinned against Bucky’s chest. “You sap,” he mumbled. Bucky chuckled softly, running his hands through Steve’s hair until they both fell asleep.


End file.
